


Hospital Shirt

by Aeliz



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: HP: Epilogue Compliant, Healers, Kid Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-11
Updated: 2015-12-11
Packaged: 2018-05-06 02:53:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5400188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aeliz/pseuds/Aeliz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco has spent over a decade building a life in America, when a mysterious patient in Britain falls ill. After a barrage of letters and requests, he finds himself forced home -- to save the life of one Harry Potter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hospital Shirt

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: This fic was heavily inspired by two songs: Hospital Shirt, by Jason Myles Goss and I'll be Good, by Jaymes Young. I strongly suggest you give them a listen. They remind me of these two. If you're on tumblr, please follow! I love to talk HP! a-eliz.tumblr.com

_"I know you think I look handsome in my hospital shirt,  
I got this tube in my arm, but I swear it don’t hurt  
If they send more flowers, I may lose my cool" _

It was much too late to be arriving anywhere, in Draco's opinion. While the years had whittled away many of his strong opinions on things, a few remained. One of these was that the afternoon was the time for arrivals. Mornings were presumptuous, and any time after 5 was imposing.  


2 a.m. was simply indecent. Here he was though, staggering through the St. Mungo's Hospital doors at 2 a.m., slightly damp and exhausted, Scorpius fairly vibrating with excitement next to him. His shift at Angeles Hospital hadn't ended until 10 p.m., which wasn't unusual, but catching a midnight Portkey and unexpectedly wrapping up his affairs in L.A. was.  


He had sworn when he left England that he wouldn't be back. He had spent 2 years on probation. Two years where he may have had more curses, insults and hexes thrown his way than when he was an active Death Eater. The war hadn't ended for Draco when Harry took Voldemort out. Voldemort's death had been an intermission, just enough time for him to catch his breath and return to struggling.  


Draco's war had ended in New York City. He had spent several years there training with a healer who specialized in combining Muggle science with magic. The last five years, Draco had been practicing on his own at Angeles hospital.  


Then he had gotten letters from specialists at St. Mungo's, wondering if he might come in for a consult? They had a high-profile patient whose condition they could not diagnose. He hadn't gone for the consult, but he had reviewed the file and sent some suggestions.  


The next letter had been from Luna Lovegood, wondering if he couldn't come for a visit and drop by the hospital to visit a friend with an odd illness? He had responded that no, he couldn't come for visit, but she was more than welcome in L.A.  


Several more letters from the Head Healer at St. Mungo's, each more aggressive than the last. They implied it was his patriotic and professional duty to return and examine the patient. Draco's replies were terse, but professional. He was currently unable to leave L.A. due to his own caseload, and working for another hospital would violate his current contract.  


Then a letter from Hermione Granger-Weasley of all people, very carefully worded, but requesting him to return to London. To see to an acquaintance. Her letter was achingly polite, imploring but not groveling. Draco grit his teeth and wondered which one of his former classmates could be creating this much drama. It should have been obvious. He stood speechless when Scorpius' Hogwarts letter arrived, months earlier than the rest would be mailed out. That they would invite the son of the man who had let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts implied serious strings were being pulled in England.  


Finally, his boss walked into his office with a thick white envelope bearing St. Mungo's official stamp. He leant against Draco's doorjamb and hoisted the heavy packet. "I have a job offer here for you, from St. Mungo's. They're offering triple your current salary, to pay your buy-out fee and moving expenses," Draco met Roberto's cinnamon eyes, the breath escaping from his lungs in a quick huff. Roberto's body language read 'casual indifference', but his magic hummed with amusement and surprise. "I assume this has something to do with the high volume of mail we've had for you from dreary old England?" He asked moving to sit in the chair across from Draco's desk. He crossed a pair of worn black Adidas trainers out in front of him and folded his hands across his waist.  
Draco slumped back in his chair, almost tipping it backwards. He shook his head at Roberto. "I really don't know what this is about," He spoke softly, "They practically chased me out of the country, and now they're begging me to come back? For one patient? It's ridiculous," He said tiredly, pulling his hair back out of his face.  


"This offer is ridiculous, Draco. It would take you 40 years to reach a salary like this here," Roberto's voice was colored with amusement. "Hell, if I knew anything about Muggle Biochemistry I'd bleach my hair and take the offer myself,"  


Draco was shaking his head, but Roberto plowed on. "You're own lab, five of your own staff people, a research budget that... well, you better cure all known illnesses with it." He tossed the packet onto Draco's desk. Inches thick and on the heavy parchment only old, Wizarding England still used. Everyone in America carried spiral bound notebooks and Bic pens – Draco loved spiral notebooks and Bic pens.  


Draco ignored the heavy file and launched into a verbal report on his current patients. Roberto allowed the distraction and listened attentively, giving feedback where it was due and keeping his eyes from the envelope with the tact of a doctor refusing to stare openly at a medical oddity.  
The next morning, only a few sips into his first latte of the day his assistant accosted him in the hall to shove a cream envelope bearing the Ministry of Magic seal. It was already open, he glared at her and she quivered for a moment before spouting, "Its a full pardon!" He growled at her and stormed to his office, unable to bear British politics at this time of the morning.  


"I don't care if the bloody Minister of Magic shows up, I'll hear no more of England today!" The office staff tittered and giggled. One thing Americans did not do, that he wished they would, was to fall silent when someone made a dramatic exit. Instead, they got louder.  


He went about his day in relative peace. His interns eyed him with careful unease and went about their tasks more quickly than normal. It irked him and he vowed to keep them running at this pace for their full 36-hour shift. Twelve hours in, he noticed no new patients were being assigned to his caseload. When he confronted Matilda, the head nurse, about it she merely gestured to Robert's firmly closed door and stated sweetly that she was only following orders. He grit his teeth, attempted a smile and backed off, his army of interns following slowly.  


"Never," his voice was ice and his skin was flushed an angry red, "Piss off the nurses. Ever," it had been one of his most valuable life lessons - professionally and personally. Nurses were the glue keeping a hospital together. He had lived one week without the assistance of nurses and he would pay to send an entire hospital's nursing staff on vacation was it ever to happen again. By the following evening, he had cleared his entire caseload and he sent the interns packing an hour before their shift ended. Stoically he approached Roberto's door, to have it swing open cheerily in his face.  


"Draco!" Roberto boomed excitedly. His desk was covered with the cream colored parchment of England. Draco scowled and dropped into a battered orange armchair, glowering. Roberto leaned towards him, folding his arms across him on the desk and asked, "How can I help you this evening?"  


"Why were no new cases assigned to me today?" Draco asked cultivating the smooth and derisive tone his father had used when displeased. Roberto smirked at him,  


"Are we pretending you're not due in England tomorrow? Because you are,"  


"Excuse me?" This time it was Severus in his voice as he shoved the panic deep into his gut.  


"They are expecting you tomorrow at 8 a.m. I had Regina gather your things and schedule a Portkey in --" he checked his watch, "Two hours. St. Mungo's is working everything out on the other end."  


"No. Absolutely not. I cannot move myself and my son across the bloody world in two hours!" This time, his voice was his own. Shrill and tight, rage blossomed beneath his skin and his magic crackled along his forearms. Roberto watched him with dispassionate calm.  


"This is for your own good Draco," the man said calmly, "you cannot hide here forever. You need to go home. You need to take your son home. This is the offer of a lifetime and I won't see you pass it up out of stubborn fear." Draco glared at him, for the first time in many years considering the use of a carefully cast Unforgiveable.  


"You have no right to meddle in my life, Rob," his words were low, hissing through the air like icicles. Roberto's enthusiasm waned but his shoulders stayed taut. "You lost that right a long time ago," embarrassment crept over the other mans features but the stubborn lines of his face held.  


"I don't expect you to forgive me, but I do expect you to go." Draco glared and stood, taking a step towards Roberto whostood and met the gray glare. "Either to England or another hospital, but your tenure here ended today. You are no longer an employee of this hospital, Healer Malfoy. I expect you to leave. Your things and papers are outside with Regina and Scorpius," he reached out to hand Draco the envelope of papers. Silently, Draco took it, never ceasing to glare at him. His magic crackled down his arms and sparks sputtered out on the tile floor. Carefully, he spun on his heel and left.  


Scorpius was a vortex of excitement in the waiting room. He had never seen England. Draco's heart always ached when he thought about what his son was missing. He'd never walked the hills around the Manor, gasping when he crested a ridge and looked out upon a maze of hundreds year old stone fencing. Never laughed as a lamb accosted him on a romp. Never ghosted his fingers over gold filigree on the walls. Never breathed sharp, cool, sea air that was fresh and a little rancid.  


Draco never spoke of England or Hogwarts with Scorpius. He couldn't, each time he had tried his throat had swelled and his chest had throbbed with anguish. He'd thought they would never go back. He'd thought maybe Scorpius would go when he was of age, when he could go for himself. Draco had never dared to dream of taking him.  


Carefully, Draco schooled his features into a bland mask of calm and accepted the travel manifesto from Regina. She quietly congratulated him and wished them both safe travels. Checking the manifesto and his watch he quickly steered the two of them towards the floo network. Their Portkey left shortly. With a sigh, Draco resigned himself to an impromptu homecoming and prayed to the goddess he wasn't arrested on arrival.  


And so, he and Scoripus had caught a midnight Portkey to England. The 10 year old bouncing along the entire time. "Dad, can we go to Diagon Alley? And to the Manor? Will the house elves still be there?" A million questions tumbled out of his mouth and Draco could only smile sadly and pull him close by the shoulders. He had no idea if the house elves were still in the Manor. Or if he would be allowed anywhere magical that wasn't St. Mungo's.  


He wrapped his arms firmly around Scorpius, holding him close to his chest. Their luggage was shrunken and stuffed into his bag, draped safely across his shoulders. Grasping the wooden spoon firmly, he whispered for Scorpius to breath and waited for the sickening tug behind his navel. International Portkeys took several seconds longer than national ones and Draco held Scorpius close as they spun through space. The boy would be sore and disoriented, perhaps nauseous. Draco had dosed him preemptively with pain and anti-nausea potions before they left, even though the boy had complained and pulled faces. As their feet landed hard on stone floor the boy stumbled and then righted himself with the disdainful dignity Draco knew his son had learned from him. It was something Draco still did when he was uncomfortable.  


London made his skin prickle. As they stepped out onto the street Draco felt as though the cloudy sky was pressing him into the earth, attempting to erase him from existence. It smelled like home and broken promises, of terror and desperate love. Memories he had spent years examining and filing away surged across his brain. The heaviness of it all was staggering. He gasped, the world going blurry around him as he fought to conquer his spiraling emotions.  


"Dad, breath, c'mon, breathe," his son's voice was worried but firm. Draco wished desperately that the boy had never seen him have a panic attack, never watched the color drain from him and his breath come hard and fast, then not at all. However, this was reality, and Scorpius knew enough at 10 to help him through this without panicking himself. The panic would come tomorrow, probably, but Draco would be able to address it then. "Da', breathe. We are okay. You are okay. Just breath," Draco's hands were on his knees, bent at the waist, head hanging between his shoulders, staring at the cobblestones and watching them swim through watering eyes. He was fine. Stubbornly, he took a deep breath, inhaling though his abdomen and exhaling through his mouth. He felt like an hour had passed, in reality it was only a few minutes.  


When he looked up at Scorpius the boy was grinning at him, "They're getting shorter, Da'," he said innocently. He was smart enough to know that the attacks stemmed from trauma Draco had suffered during a war. Having never been traumatized, he had no real context as to the meaning of that. Just academic knowledge. However, his trust and encouragement always made Draco proud of him, and in turn, proud of himself. He pulled the boy close to him for a cuddle, shouldered the bag with all of their shrunken things and stowed and held his hand out for Scorpius. They apparated to the front entrance for St. Mungo's. Scorpius looked around curiously, the building had been modernized in the years Draco had been away. It was now a sleek, white, glimmering building that Draco thought would fit better in Helsinki than the middle of ancient London. Resolutely, Draco held on to Scorpius and drew them towards the white monolith. Rage still swirled within him. Disbelief that, once again, another man had set his life spinning with a few careful sentences.  


Their shoes squeaked on the too-clean floors. Angeles had been the only Wizarding Hospital for over one millions citizens and was never clean. Their Janitorial staff had run constantly, fighting an ever-present war against filth. St. Mungo's gleamed with pristine cleanliness. They stopped at the front desk -- manned by three administrative staff, all young and perky despite the late hour.  


"Healer Malfoy, here to see patient number 719," the young woman looked at him skeptically and began rifling through a desk drawer aggressively.  


"You weren't expected until morning," she said, raising a carefully shaped eyebrow. He engaged her battle of nonchalance and leaned over the desk.  


"I understood it was something of an emergency," he said carefully. She smirked and opened the file.  


"We aren't authorized for your formal orientation, but here is the patient file. He is in room 214," she said, handing him an ID card and thick file. He nodded to her politely and collected Scorpius, pointing him towards a lift. As they walked Scorpius dutifully held his hand and quietly observed. Eerie calm reigned over the hospital and Draco sharply missed the constant chaos of Angeles. There he had felt useful and needed, here he waited for someone to hex him.  
In the quiet, as they neared their destination, a faint melody was emerging. Someone, somewhere, was signing a song. The voice was masculine, friendly, teasing, and familiar. Someone he had once known. It was a cheeky song, making light of the man's situation, meant to reassure. 

_"I know you think I look handsome in my hospital shirt,  
I got this tube in my arm, but I swear it don't hurt.  
If they send me more flowers I may lose my cool.  
I may bone rail skinny but I ain't no fool…" _

Draco stopped in front of room 214. Harry Potter sat on the bed, acoustic guitar held loosely in his lap, singing at Hermione Granger and three little children – one older than Scorpius, two younger. Draco had heard that he and Ginerva had married and had children, but he'd only glared at the paper and thrown it away. He'd attempted not to dwell on it, but Astoria had claimed he was in a foul mood for weeks afterwards.  


He glanced at the thick file in his hand, the room number written hastily on the cover. Room 214. Patient 719. Harry Potter was his patient. The bloody excessive letters and job offer were because they didn't want to be responsible for Harry Potter's death.  


The adults paused, taking time to assess each other after more than a decade apart. Hermione had aged gracefully, grown into herself. Harry looked diabolically ill. Worse than Draco had ever seen him, even worse than when he was freshly undead and just taken out the dark lord. For their part, Harry and Hermione were pleasantly surprised. Hermione had pulled every string she had to get Draco here, and hadn't believed Roberto would do as he promised. But here stood an infuriated and supremely grumpy Draco Malfoy. His blond hair had grown long and hung partially in his face, his trousers were well worn and his shirtsleeves were shamelessly rolled around his elbows, exposing a riot of tattoos on his left forearm. He was glaring at them and the file intermittently, seemingly unsure of which reaction to have.  


Inwardly, Draco cursed, mindful of the children. Everything in his damn life revolved around Harry fucking Potter. While part of his brain continued down this angry, disheartened track, the other assessed Potter's condition. He should have improved more. His thoughts split into two tracks, the way he had trained it to during the war. One part of him was quietly freaking out in the background while his professional demeanor took over and he began flipping through the updated file in suspicion.  


He registered the song trailing off and a tug on his trousers, Scorpius' usual signal that he wanted his attention. He looked at Scorpius who looked meaningfully into the hospital room. Harry was now draped lazily over the guitar, grinning at him. Hermione looked hopeful, the children looked puzzled, but welcoming. "Yes, hello," Draco said, faint puzzlement etching his voice and accenting his dispassionate speech.  


"Draco, you came," Harry said warmly and with touch of surprise. Draco's puzzlement deepened. His arrival surely did not erase several years of animosity. "No one thought you would come," Harry explained gently. At this Draco frowned, decisively deciding to ignore the implication that there was, in fact, a small army of people behind the harebrained scheme to get him here. Instead, he focused on the way Harry's fingers trembling slightly and the lack of luster in the other mans skin and hair. Draco hummed noncommittally, fingers paging through parchments of test results.  


"Sorry, this happens. He's busy thinking right now," Scorpius interjected, filling in his father’s silence smoothly. Draco acknowledged the comment with a slight tilt of his head towards his son. "I'm Scorpius, I guess you know my dad. We've just gotten here," Scorpius said to Harry, attempting to explain his Dad's odd behavior. He wasn't sure why his dad was so weird, but he knew it had something to do with these people. Something to do with a war no one spoke of in his presence and Harry sodding Potter. Sodding was a word only his dad could use, so he had learned the hard way. Harry grinned at the boy, who looked much the same as Draco had at the same age, only, friendlier, content, and unencumbered. Harry remembered Draco as always having seemed burdened, even at 11.  


"Hello, Scorpius, I'm Harry. This is James, Albus, Lily, and Hermione." He reached out and shook Scorpius hand. Draco registered the way his skin was red and angry around his IV. His scowl deepened and he reached for Harry's arm, feeling the way his vein had accepted the needle and tutting over how shoddily it had been put in. He began his own set of diagnostic charms, making notes in his file as he went. Harry watched him calmly, too calm for Draco's comfort. Harry Potter should not be a docile patient; he should be difficult, squirmy at the very least. In the background, Scorpius was chatting easily with Mrs. Granger-Weasley and Potter's children, making fast friends. This was skill of his that Draco envied and enjoyed about his son. He could get thrown into any number of strange situations, but he always adjusted easily and made friends.  


Reaching into his bag, he pulled out a new spiral notebook and disposable pen, pulling the pen cap off with his teeth and beginning his own set of notes. Harry did as he asked dutifully, with the resignation of a patient bored of the treatment. It was nearly half an hour before he was done with the initial examination and he was more confused at the end of it than when he began. A large piece of this puzzle was missing.  


"Draco," Hermione interrupted his train of thought, "Where are the two of you staying tonight?" Draco looked at her in confusion for a moment and then it dawned on him. He was definitely not leaving the hospital tonight. He needed to care for Scorpius; he also needed to figure out what the hell was wrong with Potter. He was deteriorating, not improving. They didn't both need to sleep in his office, again.  


"I had planned to take a room at the Leaky," He lied tentatively, aware that his rebuttal sounded thin. Accompanied by the startled look on Scorpius' face, the lie didn't hold up well in a room of observant Gryffindors.  


"He's welcome to come home with us," She said warmly, gesturing towards Harry's brood, "These three have been with us all week. We've two of our own. One more won't make a whole lot of difference. I can leave you our floo address and mobile number," Draco was staring at her, slightly puzzled. While he absolutely did not think that she would ever do any harm to any child, this did not mean that she needed to go out of her way to show his kindness.  


"That would be wicked!" Albus exclaimed, leaning close to Scorpius and whispering something to him. For his part, Scorpius looked delighted by this turn of events. New friends, something conspiratorial, staying the night with two of his historical hero's, this was a dream come true for him. Draco looked to Hermione. His pride begged him not to show any surprise in front of her, but his utter relief at a safe place for his son to sleep brought the response to his lips despite it.  


"You're sure? We will be fine here," he said softly, decades old angst reminding him he owed her a hell of a lot more than she owed him. She stepped closer to him and rested her hand on his arm.  


"You've come halfway across the world to save my friend, after I've had you hassled unrepentantly for weeks to come here. As I understand it, you haven't had any time to make arrangements. I can watch over your child for a night. He seems to fit right in here," Draco sighed and looked at Scorpius for a moment. His anger at the situation was quickly fading as reality set in. Turning back to Hermione he spoke softly,  


"I am so sorry, for what I was a part of, for what you went through because of me," he hadn't meant to say it, not now, not like this, not in a room full of people, but the words had been stuck in him for longer than a decade, and these small reparations had weighed on him. Hermione smiled sadly at him.  


"We were all children when that started, but if you need it, you have my forgiveness. You have for years." He reached up to squeeze her hand.  


"Thank you," he said smiling at her shyly. She grinned at him.  


"All right, kiddos, time to go home," She said turning towards them. Harry's children all scrambled to their feet, clambering over to him like a pile of puppies. He grinned and kissed them all, speaking softly to them. Scorpius came over to him and wrapped his arms around him, face in Draco's stomach.  


"You okay with this?" Draco murmured into his hair, ignoring the uncomfortable press of his sons nose into his kidney. Scorpius nodded.  


"Better than a hospital bed, or the floor," he grumbled. As a single parent for most of his life, Scorpius had endured less than ideal parenting on more than one occasion. They had both spent many nights at the hospital, Scorpius supervised by the hospital staff and getting himself into all sorts of odd situations he oughtn't have been in. He was brilliant, getting into things out of a desire to figure them out. "Al says they've a Quidditch pitch and a library!" He looked up at Draco grinning wildly. Draco chuckled.  


"You ever going to come home?" Draco asked as he knelt down in front of Scorpius.  


"When there's actually a home, sure. But if we're going to live in a storage closet, then I might dye my hair red and become one of them," The thought of Scorpius with red hair made Draco snicker.  


"We'll bring him back around lunchtime tomorrow," Hermione interrupted, coming to stand next to them while Potter's brood disentangled themselves from him, "Is that alright?" she asked. Draco nodded and met Scorpius eyes firmly.  


"You will call me if you need to. You will let me know if you need to see me, okay?" Scorpius nodded and hugged him.  


"I'll be fine, Da'. Don't worry about me," Draco rolled his eyes. He hated to leave Scorpius, but something was very wrong with Harry. He quickly checked that both of their mobiles were still charged and that he had numbers for the Granger-Weasley household. Draco kissed the side of his son's blond head and released him. Scorpius grinned and scampered out of the room, linking arms with Albus. Draco shook his head and watched them as they walked down the hall, a small ball of commotion in an otherwise silent hospital.  


He turned back to Harry and his smile faded back into a frown. They were missing something. Something important, crucial to healing him. Harry groaned and Draco quirked an eyebrow at him, puzzled again. "Are you going to frown at me forever?" Harry asked plaintively. "Can't you dazzle me with your beautiful smile for once?" The laugh burst from Draco completely unexpected. For several moments, they both chuckled. The first genuine moment of mirth they had shared.  


Draco sat in the chair next to Harry's hand and pulled the medical file off of the other man's lap. Harry shifted and turned towards him, lying carefully on his side. Arm with the IV stretched out in front of him awkwardly. "So, what's up doc?" he said conspiratorially. Draco smirked at him before returning his attention at the notes in his file. After a moment, he met Harry's gaze.  


"You aren't getting better, and you should be, and something is missing here." He growled the last few words and chewed on his bottom lip. He flipped to the meal log, his brain calculating nutrients and mineral count. Harry sighed and scratched at his arm where the IV was. "Stop that," Draco chastised automatically.  


"I have felt better, since the last round of suggestions you sent were implemented. I have more stretches of time where everything is clear. Usually later at night, which is why Hermione brings the kids then. Otherwise... I'm... I can feel really muddled; dizzy, I don't -- register time properly. I'm constantly a little nauseous. And my magic is off. It's like... being 8 years old again and its escaping from me," He paused, realizing that he had Draco's full attention. Draco frowned at him some more, chewing on the end of his quickly deteriorating pen. Harry's symptoms were consistent with what he was being treated for, but a few of the details didn't quite fit. If the treatment had been working, he would have brushed them off as issues coming from somewhere else, but since the treatment wasn't working, he needed to start over. Draco closed the file, dropped it to the floor next to him returned to the mostly blank notebook. If they answer was in that file, he -- or someone else -- would already have cured this. The answer wasn't there. New healer -- new start, he thought as he found a blank page. Harry was eyeing him curiously.  


"Start at the beginning, think as far back as you can, when did this all start?" Harry's eyes widened and he hesitated. This was more what Draco would expect from Harry Potter. Some reluctance, a slight hesitation to work with him. Their past couldn't truly be buried behind a wall of professionalism. This was the fight Draco had been expecting from England.  


"I really didn't think you were going to come," Harry began quietly, "No way was Draco Malfoy crossing the globe to save Harry Potter's arse, I thought" the man said, sarcasm dripping from his voice, "Why'd you come, Draco?" his eyes were intense. The firefly green holding Draco captive, pushing easily through to see him clearly. That was what had always made Draco crazy about Harry Potter, more than anything else -- it was the feeling that Harry actually saw him. The way he only saw himself late at night, when his barriers were down. When Harry looked at him, he saw it all. When they were younger, it had felt like a judgment, a betrayal. Now, it felt like a release. Draco longed for clarity and when Harry looked at him -- he had it.  
Draco sighed, "You really want to do this now?" he asked, knowing they could either keep everything strictly professional, which was how Draco preferred to operate, and maybe they would get through this. Or, they could drop it all together. Draco would get over-involved. Harry's success or failure would both wreck him completely and send him running back to America, or it would be one of his crowning achievements. One of the few things in his life he could feel unapologetically happy about.  


"I do," Harry said levelly.  


"I wasn't going to come. I didn’t know it was you." Draco said plainly, letting his own resistance fall. Nothing had ever been gained by playing it too close to the chest -- at least, not for him. "It's medial policy to redact all names when sending a file for consult. All I had was a patient ID number and your symptoms. They omitted everything pre-illness, there's nothing about old war injuries in here -- which, given who you are, probably matters in this case." The thought exasperated him. A chronic failure of wizarding medical practice was the failure to look at everything as a whole. "But, Potter, " as he began again, he was cut off.  


"Harry, please. If you're going to be digging into the last decade of my life, I refuse to hold on to any of that Hogwarts era shite. You're different, and I'm different, and we are not going back to that." His voice was like the slow roar of the ocean, gentle but firm and dangerous. Draco nodded.  


"Harry," saying his name, out loud, not in his head, it drew him closer to Harry. Draco realized he would never make it out of this intact. He was going to lose pieces of himself, he'd been here 15 minutes and he was already losing himself to Harry, again. "I owe you a life debt. Several, in fact. I would have come immediately if you'd called that in. Instead, I came because my boss packed up my life behind my back, fired me, and sent me off with a Portkey. I came because... " This was it, honest with Harry or never honest with Harry. Draco was so tired of being dishonest. He'd had enough of that for several lifetimes. "Oh, goddess, I came because I missed home. We could have gone somewhere else, but Scorpius has never been here. He's English, but he's never been to England. How ridiculous is that?" Draco's laugh was bitter and full of regret. "Never had a proper high tea -- he doesn’t even like tea! I'm an utter failure as an English Parent!" Harry was shaking his head and smiling his easy, tranquil smile. "I came because I hoped it would be different now. That maybe when people look at him they don't see a Malfoy, they just see this brilliant little lad who is so good that it hurts sometimes to look at him. I wanted to come home. I wanted to see if we could live life here.  


"And this mystery patient, who is dying for no reason was the catalyst. You shouldn't be this sick, you should be getting better, and it's… Quite frankly, it's infuriating." He'd been looking at the ceiling while he spoke. The man had asked, and Draco had learned to answer when people truly asked. He still didn't like the process of vulnerability, but age had taught him it was often rewarded.  


"I wanted you to come home," Harry said softly. "That’s completely odd, but I realized it a few years ago, I missed you. I missed seeing you. The world has always seemed empty without a Malfoy in it. It seemed wrong that your boy not be at Hogwarts with mine, I wanted to know how that would go,"  


"Apparently it's going to go fabulously," Draco laughed, grinning at Harry, remembering the easy way their boys and gravitated towards each other. The way he wished he and Harry had.  


"Apparently…" They shared a happy grin; "It made no sense for me to miss you. I never properly knew you. It drives Ginny crazy. But I did, I missed you, ferret," Draco grinned at him, earnestness emerging from him. "So, when Hermione said she was writing to this fancy doctor in America I rolled my eyes. Then we got the recommendations back and I saw your name all over them I thought, well, that makes sense. Draco would be brilliant. Then I find out they've all started harassing you to come, and it had gone on for weeks, I thought, no way is ferret face coming to save me. You don't owe me anything, Draco," He said firmly, eyes still bright in his sallow face.  


"I do, I owe you absolutely everything. And I'm going to save your skinny arse if I have to drink all the coffee in the world to do it. So, tell me when it started." Harry sighed and started talking. He talked for hours and Draco took notes in multi colored in, Muggle Bic pens. Holding them in his lips as he switched back and forth. If Harry lingered too long on the way Draco's mouth and hands moved, it went unnoticed. Harry would have laughed if Draco hadn't looked so serious. He could tell that Draco was analyzing and checking the things he had said against one another, processing everything. He'd known, at school, that Draco was smart, but with his silver eyes focused solely on him, he was seeing brilliance at work. He hoped, in those moments, that maybe Draco could save him after all. 

\--/:/-- 

Draco slept in his office, which was, he discovered, adjacent to an impressive laboratory. The overnight administrator seemed completely befuddled that he wanted shown to his office at 3 a.m., but she gave him a key and told him orientation would be done "properly" in the daylight hours. Ordinarily, Draco would have enjoyed orientation. A casual stroll around the hospital, proper introductions, the opportunity to make beneficial first impressions. However, it seemed that Potter had, once again, completely taken over his brain. He knew, theoretically, that he would soon be assigned other chronic patients. He needed to get as much time in with Harry before that happened, he needed to figure this out.  
He slept from four to six a.m., found the coffee pot with the help of an overly familiar nurse, and took the whole thing back to his office with him. His case was unpacked with a series of wand movements, and soon he was taping various note cards and reports to a corkboard, drawing a timeline of Harry's illness. It started with chronic malnutrition, exacerbated by almost twenty years of carrying a horcrux around inside of him. He had vomited when Harry had revealed that to him.  


The real sickness, however, the chronic symptoms started the year of his marriage, the year after the war. Draco was torn, where was the root cause? Logically, it should have been in the mess of the war, but it seemed not to be. One of the morning administrators had brought him a box of all of Harry's medical files. Draco had also sent a request off to Hogwarts for copies of Harry's school medical records. He was perched on the end of a lab table, drinking coffee and shoveling a stale donut into his face when Hermione let herself into his lab. She smiled warmly at him; take-away boxes that smelled of eggs, salsa, and cheese dangling from her fingers.  


"Brought you breakfast," she glanced meaningfully at the crumbling donut in his hand. Suddenly, Draco felt a bit ashamed of his nutritional choices this morning. He swallowed the last, dry chunk of it that was in his mouth and smiled meekly, feeling a bit like a chastised child once again. "Did you sleep?" She asked as she unpacked things, handing him plastic silverware wrapped in a thin napkin.  


Draco shrugged. " A few hours," he said and watched as she frowned at him. Taking the white, Styrofoam takeaway box from the chrome tabletop he greedily opened the lid. He'd been right, arroz con huevos. He grinned and dug in, crossing his legs under him on the table. He looked up to see Hermione holding what looked like a bottle of sriracha and staring at him oddly, her head tilted to the side. He eyed her with an equal measure puzzlement, having learned that if he sat quietly and let his confusion show, people generally explained themselves. If he barraged them with questions, they shut up. She smiled and shook her head, curly hair left free to bounce around her head this morning. Her dark skin was flushed with mirth.  


"You used to be so proper, I expected that to remain, but, here you are, in two day old clothes sitting on a table getting food on your trousers," She passed him the sriracha and he doused his eggs with it.  


"I think these are four day old trousers," he admitted ruefully. Realizing with chagrin that he probably stank and was an epic example of parental failure this morning.  


"I also wasn't sure about the Mexican food, but I figured if you'd been in LA, you'd probably appreciate it." Draco nodded emphatically.  


"I wouldn't turn down a scotch egg or bangers and mash, but this is definitely a better way to wake up," he said, in between mouthfuls. As she watched him eat, handing him a bottle of water midway through, Draco realized that she was mothering him. It was shocking. The realization that it had been years since he had let someone else care for him was horrifying. He had isolated himself behind an ocean, a continent, and his own discomfort. Not even 24 hours at home, and people were already inserting themselves in his life. How long could it last? Would it continue if he failed Harry?  


"Scorpius and Albus built a fort in the middle of the night," Hermione interrupted his maudlin thoughts. Draco snickered and grinned; this didn't surprise him in the least,  


"He seems to think of England as the land of fortresses. I think he expected there to be one atop each hill," She was eyeing his corkboard, moving towards it slowly. He let her, she probably had things to add to it that Harry wouldn't have noticed or realized were important. He put the, now empty, takeaway box down and sipped his stone cold coffee. She was frowning, looking at the division between pre-war and post war symptoms.  


"Albus has always struggled to fit in with our other kids, he's very introspective and empathetic. James tends to roll right over the top of him," Hermione said, folding her hands behind her back.  


"Scorpius always fits in, but we've never stayed anywhere long enough for him to really connect with someone. I hope Hogwarts does that for him," His greatest worry in life was that he would damage Scorpius. That he wasn't a good enough father. He was too easy, too stern, and too cold. Scorpius, for the most part seemed to navigate life easily. Miraculously happy and well adjusted. Hermione nodded and smiled encouragingly at him.  


"They seem to have taken to each other easily. They slept in the fort last night. I reminded them that they had perfectly good beds to go back to, but no, they wanted to camp out in the living room." She mused, frowning slightly as she thought and accenting the wrinkles of her face gracefully. A smattering of gray hairs implied mothering two children and working for the Ministry caused her some angst, but otherwise she was a beautiful and forceful woman.  


"It started after," she said definitively, turning to look at him, sadness etched across her face, gesturing to his timeline. Affirming Draco's suspicions. "He has PTSD, we thought it was part of that. Then we thought it was pre-wedding nerves. Then pre-baby nerves. It was small, he'd be a little disoriented, a little nauseous. Then he quit drinking and was still nauseous. Then, he was getting skinnier. Ginny said he was afraid of getting fat," she laughed and wiped at her eyes, attempting to mask the start of tears. Whatever was happening inside this family, she loved Harry dearly. "I think he'd dearly love to get fat, actually. He'd move to the country, get a dog and some sheep and get fat and happy with the kids." She turned away, looking out the windows.  


"Why isn't Ginerva here?" He asked softly, this had been nagging at the back of his brain. Harry's children were at Hermione and Ron's. Hermione brought them in to visit in the middle of the night. Where was Harry's wife in all of this? No one had mentioned her yet. He'd have heard of a divorce, even in America, big Harry Potter news hit the paper and the wireless just as quickly as it did here.  


Hermione sighed, "Touring, she stops by every few days or so," She seemed reluctant to talk about Ginny. Interesting. "She's seeker for the Harpies," she amended when he frowned. Nodding, he carried on, past her hesitations.  


"How is their relationship?" He prodded. Hermione looked at him askance and bit her lip.  


"Do you really need to know?" She asked, Draco was not used to this from her. She'd always spouted information, the fact that she was tiptoeing around this meant it was bad, and she was attempting not to divulge personal information. Draco appreciated her attempt at tact, but he needed to know -- it could be important. He nodded imploringly and she sighed heavily. "It's not good. It's never been good. They were too young when they married, we all were frankly." he agreed with that, his own marriage having begun and ended a disaster.  


"There was this great rush to make everything normal. We were frantically trying to do what we were supposed to do. Fall in love, get married, have babies. We were special kinds of idiots to marry at 20 and 19. I think they felt like they were supposed to get married, and so they did. None of us took any time to figure ourselves out, outside of the war. No time to pause and think, to figure ourselves out in the new world we had created. So they got married, and Harry was anxious, but we all said it was normal. She's always felt he didn't pay her enough attention, that he expected her to be a carbon copy of Molly. It seems like she didn't actually want to be tied down. She says he's secretly gay, that he doesn't love her." She'd begun pacing the room as she ranted. The words falling with the familiar cadence of her classroom sermons. "She travels a lot, and when she's home, he tries." She looked at him, eyes sad. Draco knew what she was talking about. The rush to do what normal people did. The sinking realization that you would never have that.  


"Do you think she would intentionally hurt him?" He asked, using his gentlest tone of voice. She frowned.  


"I don't think intentionally, no. She isn't malicious. But unintentionally, maybe?" Draco nodded, that was his impression of Ginevra Weasley as well. His thoughts drifted. What could cause this in Harry? Something that would have been perceived as a benefit, but would hurt him long-term? He and Hermione sat in silence for a while before he leapt off of the table -- a series of thoughts having struck him with the violence of bludgers.  


"I have to go," he said quickly, "can you keep Scorp?" he hated the nickname, really he did, but sometimes the kid's name was too damn long. Hermione nodded and watched him in slight alarm as he sped out of the room. He needed a book. An old pureblood book. A book that would be easiest found in his own library. He was going back to the Manor. 

\--/:/-- 

It was much the same as he had left it. Large. White. Imposing. Haunted. Literally and figuratively. As he walked up the driveway towards it gloom settled on his shoulders solidly -- as though it was in the very atmosphere of the place, like smog in L.A. With the gloom came the morose thoughts of self-doubt. Ginerva Weasley would never do this to Harry Potter, even unintentionally. Obviously, he was allowing his old prejudices to seep into the current situation and he would be promptly fired when St. Mungo's caught wind of what his current research implied.  


Retrospectively, he should have taken someone with him. A friend, or frankly anyone who could prop him up through this. He could have waited, requested the book from a seller, Hogwarts, another pureblood family -- but no, he walked right back in to the source of his anxiety.  


The furnishings were draped, dust had settled over everything in thick layers. His memories were fresh and pristine - as vivid as the day he had created them. As he walked deeper into the Manor his body began to tremble, sweating lightly. His lungs seemed to shrink in his chest, unable to draw enough air. His heart beat erratically and a cool, calm part of his brain began to wonder idly if he would die from this. Logically, he knew he would not. He knew he just needed to walk to the library and walk back out. It was simple, the collected piece of his mind chided, people did this every day. The rest of his mind began to slowly unravel.  


Passing the room the Dark Lord had used as his study, Draco sank to his knees, tears dropping from his eyes in an uncontrollable sob. It wracked his body and he curled in on himself against a gilded wall. He'd never before cried about the war. He'd stuffed it down, shut himself up with learning and work, with Scorpius. Focused his energy on being better, on being good. 

_I’ll be good, I'll be good.  
And I'll love the world, like I should.  
For all the times, that I never could.  
My past has tasted bitter for years now,  
So I wheeled an iron fist,  
Grace is just weakness,  
Or so I've been told.  
I've been cold; I've been merciless,  
But the blood on my hands,  
Scares me to death,  
Maybe I'm waking up, today. _

He lay on the floor for many long minutes. Re-living his life. Releasing his bitterness. He had been a child. Months older than Scorpius was now, when it began in earnest. Imagining Scorpius trying to navigate what he had made him dizzy with nerves. Scorpius was smarter than he had been, better, genuine. Even his precious little boy would have fallen the same ways Draco had. There had been no good way out. His therapist had spent years driving this lesson into his brain.  


Draco stood, shook the dust from his shoulders, and staggered towards the library resolutely. Once in the library, it took only a handful of minutes for him to locate the old family grimoire. He paged through it and pulled the other works referenced in the back. Malfoy's kept tidy records. Then he pulled more reference texts for good measure, shrunk them, and headed for the floo.  


The administrative staff in the library looked at him as though he was a drunken patient when he stumbled through the floo. Instead of assuaging them with his usual charm he simply flashed his shiny new employee badge and headed for his office. The fact that a potions cupboard was on his way was a delightful coincidence. He checked out two calming draughts, swallowing one in the hallway on his way to the office and the second ten minutes later. In place of the residual trembling and latent panic -- the cool fogginess of the calming draught suppressed his raw emotions. His thought processes were a bit slower, he had learned that the hard way on his surgery rotation, but for the purposes of research he simply lacked the manic urgency that usually spurred him through. He could function with the fogginess.  


Papers were strewn across several tables and he had commandeered several more corkboards when a lumberjack walked into his laboratory. Draco turned at the sound, a pen tucked behind his ear, one in his month, and another in his hand with a spiral bound Muggle notebook. If he'd had a few drinks and was properly prompted, Draco would sing the praises of Muggle office supplies. "Good Morning," he said distractedly, still parsing through the particulars of an old and, frankly, unstable potion in his mind. The fog of multiple calming draughts dampened his comprehension.  


"Afternoon, actually, lad," Draco looked at him, wrinkled his nose in a frown and looked around for a clock. There wasn't one. He grabbed for a blue post it, wrote 'clock' on it and stuck it to a patch of clear stainless steel table. "I'm Healer Rochester, I was informed you arrived late last night?" The man questioned. Draco recognized the name from the letters he'd never properly read and shook the man's hand distractedly,  


"Yes," Draco murmured, scribbling wildly on his notepad, "Usually, I would have participated in the regular new-hire bru-ha-ha, but after checking in on the patient last night, it was clear there really isn't time for that…" It was there, right on the edge of his consciousness, but he couldn't quite place it, the piece he was missing lingered on the edge. He knew Healer Rochester was analyzing him, but at the moment, he really didn't care to process the man's impressions of him.  


"Mr. Potter is in stable condition," the man began and Draco snorted. Stable was completely debatable. Harry wasn't going to drop dead in the next ten minutes, but he certainly wasn't stable. "I understand from your supervisor at Angeles that you came here after a 36 hour shift?" He inquired gently and Draco nodded his assent absentmindedly. "And you slept for how long today?" Draco's neck swiveled to glare at Rochester. He understood, now, what the other man was getting to and he did not have time for it.  


"I'm fine, tip-top shape," He turned back to the dusty books strewn across the table, deciding to ignore the man. It had worked for him in the past and he almost had this figured out. If he could solve this today it would make most of the St. Mungo's healing staff look like daft idiots -- and that notion made his pride scream for a swift finish.  


"How long did you sleep, Healer Malfoy?" Rochester asked firmly. Draco knew that tone. It was the tone of command. The tone his father used to use. The tone Severus used to use. The tone his first Healer had used with him when he was being exceptionally pigheaded. "I have spoken to all of your former supervisors, Draco, I know this is a tendency you have and I am not going to allow you to endanger yourself or Mr. Potter. Now, how long did you sleep?"  
Draco froze when he met Healer Rochester's eyes, knowing he was momentarily beaten. "Two hours, sir," the last word slipped out automatically. After all of these years, he still had the unnerving tendency to submit to authority when pressed. He hated it.  


"Mrs. Granger-Weasley is in with Mr. Potter and the children at the moment. I believe they are almost on their way home, she said you're staying with them while you get settled. I'll walk with you," Healer Rochester opened the door and gestured Draco through it, holding the door open and waiting for Draco to submit to his orders. Draco sighed, set his notebook down, grabbed his pack with all of their things in it and walked through the open doorway. While this was a defeat, it would better to handle it gracefully – rather than to throw a fit.  


In the serene, late afternoon cool of the hallway, reality began to set in. Now that he allowed himself a moment to process how he felt, he realized he'd been on a bit of a manic streak. He needed to sleep. It would be painfully obvious, written all over his body. Add the afternoons lengthy panic attack, and Draco knew he would look as rough as he felt. "What time is it?" He asked, looking at Rochester. He was a bear of a man, thick, beautiful beard and heavy eyebrows to match. The sleeves of his white healers robe were rolled up to the elbows, tattoos of various colors covering his thick forearms. Draco could more easily envision him cutting wood than he could healing, but he had the gentle mannerisms of an old dog. Draco would bet money children loved him.  


"Three o'clock," Rochester said gently, his calm voice soothing Draco's shattered nerves. Draco felt like it should still be 10 a.m. and 10 p.m. simultaneously. As they walked, Rochester pointed certain things out, but did not stop any of the passing healers to introduce them. Draco was grateful, he knew he looked like shite and would make a crap first impression.  


When they entered Harry's room, his patient looked up at him and sputtered, without preamble, "You look like shite," Draco sank into a vacant chair.  


"Thank you, I'm flattered," He mumbled as Scorpius scrambled into his lap.  


"Really Da', you look like crap. You need to sleep," He tucked himself under Draco's chin and Draco leant on him and mumbled an affirmative noise.  


"Thanks for fetching him, Derek, he's allowed back in 8 hours?" Hermione asked, checking the time. Rochester glanced at Draco and shook his head.  


"He's allowed back tomorrow, no earlier than 8 a.m." Draco raised his head to protest but Rochester glared at him fiercely. "You're a danger to yourself and your patient. Sleep. Eat. You'll be better tomorrow." Draco nodded and sunk back into his chair and wrapped himself firmly around Scorpius. Rochester said something softly to Harry and then left.  


"Right," Hermione said briskly, "We are off, see you in the morning, Harry," she began herding the children out of the room. It looked a bit like herding cats. Albus and Scorpius once again latched on to each other and spoke a little too closely for boys of their age. Draco stood and paused for a moment as one of his legs trembled.  


"Draco, go home and sleep," Harry said firmly. Draco looked at him for a long moment, registering his current condition compared to earlier in the day. "I am fine, I feel the same. You need to sleep, you look like you're going to fall down." Draco shook his head, stubborn pride rearing in his breast. He could push through this, he could still do more today.  


"I should have come sooner," his voice cracked as he spoke. Across the room from him Harry scowled.  
"Uproot your life and your work to come save the ass of a mystery patient who lives in a country that chased you away? It’s a miracle you're here at all. No one expects you to solve this today. I've been sick for a year. Go to sleep. Eat something that didn't come out of a vending machine," Draco frowned.  


"Hermione brought be breakfast,"  


"Something that hasn't come out of a takeaway box, then," Harry corrected himself, still glowering at Draco. "Go home."  
Draco nodded wearily and reached out to squeeze the other man's hand. "Don't die while I'm gone," Harry grinned at him and made a shooing motion. Draco followed the noise of Hermione and the children toward the floo. 

\--/:/--

Draco stumbled as the floo released him and thick, red haired arms caught him as he fell out of the fireplace. He looked up into the broad and friendly face of Ron Weasley. His stomach pitched a little. "Ferret! Welcome!" Weasley said loudly. Under the bravado Draco detected a level of anxiety, but if Weasley was ignoring it for false friendliness then so was Draco.  


"Hey, Weasel." He tried not to let the exhaustion color his voice, but as he moved out of the way of the fireplace he leaned more heavily on Ronald than he would have liked to. He looked up and met the other mans brown eyes. He felt it as ‘Auror Weasley’ assessed his current condition. His gaze was firm and assertive; he didn't shy away from the details -- noting the messily rolled up shirt cuffs and a spot of something next to Draco's left pocket.  


"Food, and then bed," Ron said firmly and began guiding Draco towards the kitchen. It was white, but not in the same imposing way as the Manor or St. Mungo's. It was clean and classic, a no fuss kitchen that was actually used by people. On the large, range stove sat a pot of something that smelled divine. Draco's mouth watered and his stomach growled menacingly. Ron grinned at him while doling him a large bowl of chili. Draco dug in, mindless of the slight burn of too hot food in his mouth. Ron slid him several thick slices of warm, thick bread slathered in butter. Draco grunted his thanks. As he ate, the rest of the family tumbled into the large kitchen. Ron filled bowls slower than hands could reach for them. Little fingers grabbed pieces of bread from the counter and they sat in groups, cheerfully chattering away. Arms wrapped around his waist and he leaned over to kiss the only blond head in the mix.  


"Hey baby boy," he said with a smile, "how was your day?" The young boy slid into the stool next to his dad and grinned.  


"It was ace, Da', we went to the burrow which is entirely crazy, it looks like it's held up with stilts and there is a ghoul in the attic and their uncle is a dragon tamer!" Draco smiled at the charming enthusiasm and let the wave of happiness roll over him. He hadn't known the enthusiasm of children was contagious, but he was thankful that it was. As the food sat warmly in his belly and Scorpius' chatter rolled over him he felt his brain slowly begin to process in its usual way -- which was when he noticed Scorpius was wearing an emerald sweater with a large yellow "A" knitted across the chest. On his feet were dirty white trainers Draco had never seen and jeans slightly too big with a hole in the left knee. He knew his puzzled face was making its way back across his countenance but he couldn't hold it back. Then realization dawned -- he had sent Scorpius with Hermione without any of his things. He had sent Scorpius home with strangers without any of his own clothing.  


"Merlin!" He swore sharply and looked up and Ron, who seemed to know exactly what Draco was thinking.  


"I once left Rose at the ice cream shop," he said nonchalantly. "When I got back she was happily chatting up an old woman, didn't even seem to notice she had been left," he was tidying up the leftover food -- not giving him the disapproving stare Draco had been expecting. He relaxed slightly, but fresh panic still raced in his blood.  


"I can't--" Draco broke off mid sentence, looking at Scorpius mournfully.  


"Dad, I love you. You’re great. I told you, I'm fine." He looked at his little boy, who was trying so hard to reassure him, when it should have been the other way around. Draco had never admitted that he struggled, even when he was in medical training and Astoria had left him alone with the baby. When they lived in his office in Los Angeles for a week because another landlord kicked them out when they discovered his last name was actually Malfoy, and not Black. He'd never admitted that Scorpius often ate crisps from a vending machine for dinner and stolen muffins from the nurse’s station for breakfast.  


"Scorpius, I'm so sorry," he breathed, pulling the boy into his lap. "I'm crap sometimes and I'm sorry, you deserve better," Scorpius was shaking his head fervently.  


"No, you're amazing and you work hard and you save people, even when they throw things and call you terrible names you won't explain. Also, the Internet totally knows, you know, so it's not worth pretending you don't know or that you didn't hear what they said," he said petulantly. Draco smiled into the soft strands of his son’s hair.  


"Yeah, I know. I still don't really understand the Internet," he admitted, smiling, even though he still felt like a crap dad. Scorpius grumbled into his chest.  


The room he and Scorpius were staying in was done up in shades of blue, and provided them with a nice view of a small pond. He noted both of these things as he sat at the end of the large bed pulling his boots off. The stench coming off of his feet was foul, and he wondered if he'd smelled this bad all day, or if it was just due to removing his shoes. His shirt smelled faintly, but not horridly. As he dragged his pitiful arse into the shower he reminisced about the days when he wouldn't have been caught dead in the same outfit from breakfast through dinner. Now it seemed, he could go four straight days without considering his personal hygiene. At least Ron and Hermione had ensured Scorpius was fed, bathed and cared for. Maybe he'd be better off if he dyed his hair and left him here. In clean pants and a new t-shirt, Draco crawled into bed and passed out. 

\--/:/-- 

As morning crept across the room Draco rolled over and saw Scorpius sprawled across the other side of the bed. He had always slept wild, stretched from one corner of his bed to the other, covers tangled and balled around him. Lucius would have been appalled, but how do you teach a child to sleep? Draco had always let him be, figuring it would be an issue for any of Scorpius future bedmates to deal with. He was going to let Scorpius do what made him happy, if he could.  


Having Scorpius had been one of the odder parts of his life. Astoria's parents and his had married them off to each other nearing the end of the war. They had agreed, but it was at a time when Draco was agreeing to anything that had the slightest chance of keeping malicious attention away from him. Their marriage contract could not be dissolved before certain terms were met, mainly the consummation of the marriage and the production of a child. In their post-war grasp at freedom, they had coupled one night and used magic to ensure it was the only time they would need to. 9 months later, Scorpius was born and they signed a new agreement. One that ended their formal relationship and released both of them from any obligation to the other. Astoria had headed for Australia, and it was the last he had heard from her.  


He couldn't hold it against her. She hadn't wanted any of that, and at the age of the 19, she had a right to forget her past. He had let her go off to find herself. Requiring marriage and childbirth of a woman was a cruel punishment. He had loved her, as a friend he dearly wanted to keep from harm. Letting her go free and live a new life was the only way to succeed at keeping her from harm. When he watched Scorpius he often thought of her. Saw pieces of her in the gentle way the boy moved and the soft way he spoke to animals. Astoria was in the beauty of the boy.  


There had been an elderly Russian woman in their apartment building who had watched Scorpius as a baby while Draco slogged through medical training at the Muggle University and the Wizarding one. A time-turner from a back-alley tinker had been the only way he'd made it through those 5 years. He'd lived each day at least twice, sometimes three times. He began to understand when the immortal gods were constantly drunk in stories. If a life of millennia was anything like the fifteen years he'd lived in a five-year span, he wished them the strongest ale in all the realms.  


The job offer from Angeles hospital had seemed like the first ray of light at the end of a long and soggy tunnel. Scorpius had been turning 5 the year they moved from NYC to Los Angeles. It was his first time living in a house, after several weeks living out of Draco's office. When Roberto had discovered Draco and the small boy had been living there, he had dragged them out of there himself and set them up in the house a friend was renting. While Roberto had been his boss, he was also one of the first people Draco confided in. Roberto had truly given zero fucks about Draco's past. He glossed over it with the ease of someone used to discrimination. He had been so far removed from the war it seemed like a small detail in Draco's life -- rather than the defining crux of it. The years in Los Angeles had been the first where Draco relaxed, sank into an easy routine, and let things go. They had still spent nights on the hospital cot, but it was an irregular occurrence rather than the norm. He still sent Scorpius off to school with crisps for breakfast, but they both ate regularly and slept mostly regularly.  


The move to England felt like a cyclone. Spinning them back out of control and Draco had yet to pull them out of the mess. He hadn't even begun. They'd fallen and landed in a heap. They would still be in that heap had Hermione Granger not caught them with the ease of a woman used to caring for others. She'd done it as though it was nothing, a normal behavior. She had taken what would otherwise have been a royal mess and smoothed it over with a few well-placed, firm comments, and caught them. They were both safe. They were eating better than they had in years. Draco felt he had the time and space to sort this all out, and that they would both be well cared for while he did. He resolved to repay them somehow, someday.  


"Why you always gotta stare at people, Da'?" Scorpius asked as he rolled over, absently kneeing Draco in the groin as he did. This was another unexpected consequence of children, elbows and knees in weird and painful places.  


"It's how I figure things out," He said absentmindedly, shifting away from Scorpius's sharp elbows while pulling him in for a cuddle. Scorpius 'hmm'd' against his chest and burrowed closer. Pressing his cold nose into the warm crevice of Draco's armpit. They lay snuggled together for a while. Draco dreaded the day his boy was 'too old' for such activity. He knew the day was coming. His own father had never cuddled; his mother had done it too infrequently for Draco to ever feel he was too old for it. Scorpius had always been a physical child, and Draco had indulged it. He'd spent a whole lifetime without it, so a baby and then a snuggly small child had soothed an ache he'd never realized was there.  


"So, did you figure it out yet?" Scorpius asked as he sat up and stretched. Draco suspected he was wearing another one of Albus' shirts, Scoprius definitely did not own any Weasley's Wizard Wheezes shirts.  


"Figured what out?" He asked, expanding their clothing trunks and pulling clothes out, determined that his child would spend the day dressed in his own clothing.  


"Figured out what's wrong with Harry?" Scorpius responded through a mouthful of toothpaste, leaning against the bathroom door. Draco froze, his mind running back over everything he'd gone through the day before. It was definitely a long-term poison. He'd thought it was the defigere sexualitas potion at first, but that wouldn't have the long-term degradation to Harry's health. However, if it was combined with another potion and interacted poorly with the secondary potion then, maybe.  


As they ate breakfast at Ron's long, battered, barn-wood table he considered the matter. His brain perking up as Ron poured him a second cup of strong coffee. It amused him that Ron seemed to do the cooking and cleaning. Hermione had run through the kitchen in a suit, muttering something about new werewolf legislation she had to go put a stop to, even though she was on family medical leave. Ron had kissed her, pressed a travel mug of tea and sent her off, smiling fondly after her.  


"Mum's a terrible cook," Albus was telling Scorpius conspiratorially. "She burns oatmeal on the regular. My dad says she gets to distracted to do it proper. Always multi-tasking. We all know a bit of kitchen magic for when dad's working, otherwise we'd live on frozen pizzas. Which are okay, if you fix em up a bit. But it's better to just make your own." Scorpius was looking at him in amazement.  


"We don't cook. Not really. Never really had time," he finally replied. Draco frowned, occasionally they ate spaghetti. Or rice and beans. He could cook, he thought mulishly as he looked at the food on his plate. It was thickly covered in eggs, fresh biscuits, bacon gravy and some sautéed peppers. Okay, Ron could cook. Draco could make edible sustenance if needed.  


"What about your mum?" Albus asked passively, with the ignorant grace of someone who didn't know they were stepping onto a land mine.  
Scorpius shrugged, "Dunno, I met her once. She was pretty," Albus nodded.  


"My mum's pretty too. Not around much either. She play's quidditch. I guess she's pretty good," their conversation switched to quidditch teams. Albus spoke of his mother with casual detachment. It was obvious that all of Harry's kids adored Hermione and Ron. They had enough things of their own in this house that they seemed at home here. It was hard to envision that they actively lived elsewhere.  


Draco's mind trailed back to Hermione's case, wondering idly if moon phases could have something to do with Harry's condition. They could. If potions were administered on a cycle, certain archaic potions ingredients were less effective nearer the full moon. This was one of the reasons the Wolfsbane potion was considered a feat of modern alchemy.  


"Ron," Draco said sharply, gaining his attention quickly, even though Rose appeared to have jumped and landed on one of Ron's feet. "Does Harry seem to get better closer to the full moon?" He asked urgently. Ron considered it for a moment, nodding affirmatively as he processed the question.  


"Yeah, seems like that’s right, but why-" Draco never let him finish the question, running back towards his room, slipping on some piece of errant child's clothing as he slid into their room. He pulled a button down shirt on and found his shoes and medical bag. Scorpius followed him, grinning.  


"Figured it out?" He asked smugly, crossing his arms and looking superior. Draco grinned at him, grabbed his head, kissed it and said,  


"Maybe, be good. Call me if you need to, ok?" Scorpius nodded and rolled his eyes. Draco hugged him, "Love you, kid," and then he was off towards the floo. Ron was leaning against a doorframe, towel slung over his shoulder.  


"Good luck, Malfoy!" He called as the green flames leapt up around him. It was one of the odder things he'd heard in his life. 

\--/:/-- 

As he strolled into Harry's room he was pleased to see that Healer Rochester was visiting with him. Good, this would be a more effective use of his time. 

"Well, you look much better," Rochester observed smugly. Draco resisted the urge to glare petulantly at his boss.  


"Yes, Draco, looking very well this morning. Though, those pants, don't you think they're a bit, snug for a fancy doctor such as yourself?" Harry's eyes were glinting in amusement, his cheeks a little pink this morning. Draco smirked at him, if he hadn't known better; he may have thought Harry was flirting with him.  


"And you, sir, are quite cheeky. How do you feel?" Draco slid onto a shiny brass stool near the end of Harry's bed and scooted himself closer to him. Casting diagnostic charms as he moved across the white tile floors. Harry's eyes lingered on the flex of his thighs as he moved, and Draco noted this as odd. Perhaps he felt deprived of his own physical health, and admired it in others then?  


"I feel more like myself today," Harry answered him, voice a little tight and Draco reached for his throat in concern. Was he having trouble swallowing? He felt fine under the light touch of Draco's fingers, but he noted it anyways. There were a few odd things happening that he still couldn't place. "I feel better, Draco," He said a bit acidly and Draco quirked an eyebrow at him. This was more the attitude he'd expected, but he wasn't sure why it was rearing its head today. Harry flushed a bit and relaxed.  


"In that case, I'd like to get you out in the sun for a bit today. Have someone find me when the kids visit, we can go for a bit of fresh air," Harry brightened considerably and this and grinned. Draco wondered how long he'd been confined to this room. It may be a bit of a wives tale, but Draco had found that fresh air and a bit of movement helped more often than it hurt. "Rochester, I'll be needing some assistance today, can we talk on the way to my lab?" The other man nodded and got out of his chair. They said their goodbyes to Harry, who was picking his guitar up from next to his bed and shooing them out, telling them to go do their jobs already and quit bothering him.  


"You have a theory?" Rochester asked as they strolled down the hall. Draco was trying to keep his pace reasonable, it wouldn't do to make another frantic impression on his new boss.  


Draco nodded and bit his lip. "I think it may be an adverse reaction to long term build up of certain radicals in his blood system. Ingredients that wouldn’t usually cause this reaction, but a build up over several years are acting as a slow poison. It doesn't register on any of the tests because it isn't something we would look for normally," Rochester processed this information as they entered the lab.  


"What kind of potions are we talking about?" He asked finally, looking over the mess of books and notes Draco had left on the table. Draco felt a little shamed at the mess he had left, books should be treated with more respect. He hefted a few books and turned them for Rochester to see.  


"I think it’s a combination of an old family version of the Defigere Sexualitas, Campania, or Mansuefio." Draco said nervously, treading on dangerous ground. The use of these potions had always been hotly debated. To suggest that someone had been dosing Harry with these for years was to suggest ignorant malfeasance, or deliberate malfeasance. The look Rochester was giving him implied that he knew exactly how tetchy this situation could get.  


"We need to know for sure, before we submit this to Mr. Potter," he said firmly. Draco nodded. He was not going to imply to Harry that the mother of his children had poisoned him for years without solid proof. It didn't necessarily have to be Ginerva, but she was the most likely culprit.  


"I would like an apprentice potioneer -- able to distill his blood samples down to essential components, and a herbologist - preferably someone familiar with modern substitutes for archaic plants," Draco began, Rochester was nodding along with him.  


"That’s reasonable. Keep me in the loop, if this is actually what we're dealing with, we will need to get the Auror's involved, it will go easier if I'm as informed as you are as to how we got to this conclusion." Draco nodded reluctantly. He was right, the word of pardoned Death Eater Draco Malfoy against a Potter family member would not go far. It would be easier if Rochester handled that end. "I'll go see who we have available and meet you back here," as he left, Draco rolled his sleeves up and began clearing his notes down to the essentials.  


By the time Rochester returned with a young potions apprentice Draco had the space mostly cleared back to its pristine state. He had copied the three potions out on a chalkboard, and called for new blood samples to be drawn from Harry. He would have liked to draw them himself, but he was needed here as well. His life, at the moment, was drawing him several different directions.  


His potions apprentice introduced herself as Veronica Chaff, he vaguely remembered her from Hogwarts but she seemed content to ignore any prior interactions of theirs and Draco was happy to let her. Rochester said the Herbologist was on his way, and so they started by distilling Harry's blood samples. He needed to be able to compare the levels of trace minerals in them from two weeks ago until today. If they could establish a decrease in the levels, then they would know if he was being regularly dosed.  


As morning waned into afternoon, Rochester called for a stop when an intern brought in a pile of sandwiches followed by Neville Longbottom. Draco felt the familiar angst and shame of regret wash over him. Neville looked well, strong and healthy. Confident. He looked Draco over carefully and greeted Rochester.  


"Professor Longbottom, thank you for joining us," Rochester greeted him warmly and shook his hand. "We were just about to break for lunch, join us? We can fill you in. You've met Healer Malfoy, I presume," Rochester grinned all the way through Neville's terse nod and Draco was thankful that the man was just going to ignore any awkwardness between them.  


Veronica collapsed onto a stool, mindlessly pulling a roast beef sandwich towards her. Mid-morning she had lost her black potioneers robes and was now wearing a beat up band t-shirt, jeans and black boots with thick soles. Draco envied her comfort. His woolen trousers and crisp shirt looked professional, but he was feeling constricted.  


As they ate, Rochester briefed Neville, who began to look distinctly uncomfortable with their subject matter. It was the discomfort of the man who knew exactly what they were implying.  


"Such a thing has not been done for many years. Most of the families will deny such things ever happened," He said slowly, looking between the three of them carefully. Draco nodded.  


"I think it probably stems from ignorance. Someone came upon an old family grimoire and thought these were old potions that might address a current problem happening in the household. Family magic’s are inconsistent, at best. Half the time their superstitious rituals with no real magic behind them. Without knowing a comprehensive family history, they may have just seen this as ritual and not actual potioneering. The issue arises in the substitution of new ingredients that interact differently than the old. The overall effect is still the same, but the details of the results are not. There are no documented cases of such things, only family history. If you had the grimoire but not the histories, one could easily think long term use would do no harm," Draco said quickly. This was possible. It could still be ignorant malfeasance. Neville nodded and approached the board.  


"My family recipes are a bit different, between the two I can extrapolate a number of different mixtures that would have the results you're finding," Neville pulled a number of books and parchment out of his own pack and began to document a series of combinations that would result in harmful side effects.  
In an attempt not to linger awkwardly, Draco returned to work. Testing Harry's blood samples over the last several weeks. The sun continued its movement across the sky as they worked in slightly tense harmony. It may have only been tense for Draco, everyone else seemed fine. His skin itched, his jaw ached. It was looking more and more like they were right about this and he hated it. Once again, he would be part of breaking Harry's world apart.  
Scorpius walked in wearing his own trousers and shoes today, but still in Albus' sweater. Draco was certain it was too warm out for sweaters. Of course, English summer was a lot cooler than Californian summer, so he may actually have been cold. Or he may have just been crushing hard without realizing it. Malfoy men were not exactly known for their observational skills.  


Scorpius stopped part of the way through the door, folding his hands in front of him and waiting for Draco to tell him where in the room was safe. He knew better than to walk into an active lab. "Hey, da'," he said by way of greeting, smiling timidly. Draco smiled at him, some of his anxiety releasing. He walked towards Scorpius and pulled him to his chest, cuddling into the boy who allowed it but didn't immediately reciprocate. From the way he held his body, Draco knew he was upset about something.  


"Met Al's mom," he said softly, burying his nose directly into Draco's stomach. Draco tensed, and Scorpius nodded and burrowed farther into Draco. "She's not very nice," the boy said tightly. Draco fought to keep his body relaxed. He had not given consideration to how Ginerva would react to Scorpious. Out of the corner of his eye, Draco noted that Neville had stopped working and was watching the two of them carefully.  


"What happened, Scorp?" He asked, guiding Scorpius towards his office. When they reached the office, he closed the door quietly and sank to his knees in front of Scorpius, chiding himself for not getting any proper furniture in here yet. The boy bit the inside of his cheek and glared at the ceiling, attempting to keep his emotions under control. When Draco began worrying about the damage he was doing to his mouth he finally spoke.  


"She said I was the filthy spawn of a murderous wretch and that Harry was crazy to let me anywhere near their family. Then she said she was going to boil Albus for touching me," The tears did fall then, and Draco pulled his boy into his lap. He let him snuffle into his shirt, resisting the urge to have a bit of a cry about this whole thing himself.  


"I'm so sorry, Scorp. I am. Her problems are with me, not you. None of this has anything to do with you. I am incredibly sorry, my sweet boy." He spoke softly and slowly into fine blonde hair, feeling Scorpius tense beneath him, ready to fight. "Relax," his body was still tense, "Relax, this is not about you, and you can't fix it." A disgruntled noise was his response. "I know you want to, but you can't. This is all... this is old history to you, but its still fresh here. I made terrible choices, and I'm sorry, but you're going to encounter the effects from time to time." He wanted to sugar coat it, to tell him everything was going to be fine. That this was an aberration of behavior from a deranged woman, but that wasn't true. Draco knew exactly where those words had come from, he'd had the same thoughts from time to time.  


"Dad, it was so good here!" Scorpius wailed, pulling himself into his own puddle on the floor, anger raw in his eyes. "They were all lovely and it was wonderful and I felt like -- like, like we were finally a part of something. We had people who cared about us! A whole bunch of them! And now its just … goddess, dad, the looks on their faces. It was like I'd been transfigured into a stinking pile of shite in front of them!" Draco's eyes grew wide and his tirade wore on. Waves of angst rolled off of the boy. Draco felt wretched that he was the cause of this, tears continued to prick behind his eyes and he inhaled sharply to keep them from falling.  


"First, language," he said sternly, Scorpius just glared at him stubbornly, "Second, Scorpius, this is all a result of my actions. This is not a reflection on your character or your personhood. Please, try and remember that. I do not think Mrs. Potter's beliefs are the same as the rest of their family. Ron and Hermione know exactly who I am and what I did. They were there for most of it. They have forgiven me and they are certainly not going to let the prejudices of the past color their children's future. We need to give them all time, and let them come back to us when they are ready. In the meantime, we've both got to suck it up," Scorpius was still glaring at him. Draco refused to flinch under the glare of an almost 11 year old, even it he'd learned how to glare from the master himself.  
As Scorpius' anger wilted, the tension in the room relaxed.  


"That’s still all crap," he said crankily, moving back towards Draco's lap like a cat.  


"Yeah, I know. But the world is crap, Scorp, its just how things are," He said, settling the child in his lap more comfortably. Scorpius glared at him furiously. As they settled, Draco heard the door to the laboratory bang open and shortly after, Hermione and Albus walked into his office both looking furious and sad. Albus appeared to have a bruise on his upper arm. Their gazes softened as they located the two Malfoy's settled on the floor. Albus hurried over, sliding on his bottom as he collided into them. His face was red and his hair was in disarray, unlike his fathers, his seemed to lie mostly flat normally.  


"Scorp, I am so sorry, " he breathed quickly, latching onto Scorpius' hand. Hermione sank to the ground next to them. Draco reached for Albus' shirtsleeve, definitely a bruise from fingers too tightly around his arm, and a bit of a burn from how he'd twisted away.  


"Hermione," Draco said quietly as the boys spoke to each other rapidly. Their words tripping over one another as they sputtered apologies and reassurances. "Do you have medical power over Harry's children?" He met her gaze levelly. She shook her head mournfully, eyeing Albus' arm carefully. Draco sighed. He would ask Harry for it when they spoke next. The injury wasn't life threatening, but he didn't let children run around with bruises if he could help it.  


Albus was looking at him warily. Draco reached an arm around the other child. "It's okay, Albus. None of this is your fault," The brown head nodded and snuffled, wrapping himself around Draco and Scorpius. Soon, Draco found he had two ten-year-old boys in his lap. He was feeling quite squashed and also like both boys needed to eat more because their butts were far too bony. Hermione was laughing as she pulled a phone out of her purse.  


"Smile, boys!" She called. Albus and Scorpius both looked up and beamed at her, unaware of how silly they looked, mindless of their tear-streaked faces. Draco grimaced cheerily as she took the photo.  


"Okay, vermin, off," he said sternly once their giggles started. They shook their heads and clung to him. He sighed and cuddled them closer. While it was entirely painful, he also knew they all needed this. He just wished there was a couch involved instead of a tile floor. The door to the office flew open again and Draco looked up to see Harry walking in, held up by James who looked pale and drawn. Lily trailed along after them, looking entirely too anxious for a young girl.  


Harry looked longingly at the pile of bodies on the floor. James brought him a chair and pressed him into it.  


"Harry," Draco gasped, shocked at the difference in his countenance from morning to afternoon. He looked sallow and dry, dark circles had returned to his eyes and his skin had lost its glow. The change shot ice into his gut. "You shouldn't be up," he couldn't mask the shocked concern from his voice and the children began to shift uncomfortably.  


"Your notes from this morning said I could go out," he protested softly, clearly worn out.  


"My notes from this morning said you could go out if you were supervised by your Healer, who is currently on the floor, and if you were still feeling well. Which you clearly aren't." Draco scooted the boys from his lap and rose to get a better look at Harry. Turning the man's wrist up, he noted the pulse of blood through his veins. "What did you eat?" He asked sadly, Harry just looked at him in confusion. Draco turned to look at James, "What did he eat? Cookie? Tea? Coffee?" James nodded at him.  


"Mum brought him some tea and biscuits, she always does," his voice was tight and trembled, old enough to fear his father's passing as a reality and not only a fearful idea. Draco placed a firm hand on his shoulder and looked him in the eyes.  


"That’s helpful, thank you" James nodded, then slumped to the floor next to his brother. Draco stuck his head out of the office door, "Veronica, go to Harry's room, get the cup of tea he was drinking if you can and bring it back," She nodded and hurried from the laboratory. Hermione was kneeling next to Harry, holding his hand and speaking to him softly, Lily was curled in between them crying softly. When Draco met Harry's gaze he could tell the other man was miserable and sad. They spoke each other’s names breathlessly at the same time.  


"Draco, I am so sorry. I had no idea she would speak to Scorpius that way," His face was tense with regret and sorrow. Draco could see the depth of despair in Harry's brilliant eyes, somewhat dimmed, but still the most enchanting things Draco had seen. He knew Harry could see his regret, the self-loathing he carried for having brought this upon all of them. Harry broke their gaze, looking a Scorpius, "Scorp, I'm sorry. She doesn't... she has her reasons and they aren't good ones, okay? I'm sorry," Scorpius nodded, overwhelmed by the amount of adult-level drama flying around the room. "No one is angry with you," Harry said and the boy nodded and leaned farther into Albus. Draco sighed, there was definitely something else blooming between the two boys.  


"Come on boys, let’s get you a proper seat." Draco helped them to their feet, pulling Scorpius, and therefore Albus, close to him. He transfigured a metal chair into a silvery, cushioned couch and left them to cuddle into each other. Transfigured furniture wouldn't last forever, but a few hours would be more than enough. A sharp knock on the glass pane between his office door and the wall called his attention, Veronica stood there and raised a brown paper cup of tea up when he met her gaze. Draco nodded and moved for the door, making a few mindless excused for his exit.  


As he met Veronica at stainless steel table she met Draco's eyes and nodded tersely. "Its definitely in here, there is a faint lingering scent of Anise and the tea bag implies this is a white tea blend. Even if it’s some bizarre fruity blend, it shouldn't smell of Anise." Draco enjoyed the disdainful way she spoke of white tea blends, he didn't much approve of them either. Fruit tea blends seemed to be all the rage at the moment, and he would prefer to drink juice. Tea ought to be a rich brown color, not pink. Nodding Draco moved towards metal cupboard full of his preferred Muggle medical supplies. Microscope, Centrifuge, several different ways to test for compounds, a heavily warded laptop and battery power supplies. Neville looked delighted.  


"Why did you say anything about this earlier? Would have gone a lot faster," he chided, coming over to help Draco set it up on a clear table. Draco sputtered at him and Neville rolled his eyes. As they worked to set the new equipment up, Neville spoke to him softly, "Your boy okay?" The lines around his eyes were creased in concern, and his mouth was held at an angle that implied disapproval. Draco nodded shallowly.  


"He will be, thanks for asking," he didn't know what else to say to Neville regarding Scorpius. This was not a social interaction his mother had prepared him for. He doubted there was a section on "How to talk to your past enemy regarding your child's emotions" in any of the pureblood etiquette books. Neville grunted an encouraging sort of noise and they resumed their work quietly. When it was clear Neville and Veronica could carry on isolating the radicals in the tea without him hovering, he signed and made his return towards his office of chaotic emotions.  


He needed to empty Harry's stomach contents, but he also wanted to analyze them. Which meant he couldn't just banish them, he need Harry to vomit. He found a bucket and several standard potions ingredients from the wooden potions chest to mix a purgative in. Worry for Harry overwhelmed him as he diced and ground ingredients, mixing them in a small pewter cauldron. Purgatives were relatively easy to make, and quick -- they had to be, by necessity. A few mindless minutes later, Draco's emotions heaved around inside of him and he had to take a few deep breaths to get himself under control. The last few days had been a test of his control; the feeling of imbalance scared him. Would he ever be himself? Was this a result of being in England, or of being near to Harry? Pushing the query into a box in his mind for later examination, he strode back into his office in a guise of calm control.  


"Draco," Harry croaked through bloodshot eyes when he saw him, "What was in the tea?" He sounded old, defeated. Hermione looked to Draco sternly.  


"We're working on figuring that out," Draco hedged. This was not the time to drop the information onto him, not after everything else that had happened in the last hour, not until he was completely sure. "I'm going to give you something so that you vomit. The faster I can get this out of the system, the better you will feel." He spoke gently, hoping to make this as easy as possible for him -- no one enjoyed puking. Harry nodded miserably, shrinking in on himself. "Do you want to go to a bathroom, or?" His voice trailed off as Harry reached for the potions bottle and bucket.  


"Puking hardly makes this more horrifying that this already is," Harry said before downing the potion like a shot. Visions of Harry drinking in a bar blossomed in Draco's mind. He wanted this for him, wanted to see him well. Hoped Harry would keep him around when that inevitably happened. Hermione rubbed Harry's neck soothingly and Draco found he was jealous. He wished he could comfort Harry. But no, he was his Healer, and now was not the time to cross that line. Not yet. The thought alarmed him, but the disturbing train of thought was interrupted by the urgent rebellion of Harry's stomach.  
Harry was good at puking, as it turned out, which Draco appreciated in a patient. He was efficient about it. Some people moaned and cried and were unable to keep it in the bucket. Harry simply leaned over, braced himself on the table and quietly retched into the bucket. It helped that most of what he had consumed over the day appeared to be broth and tea. When he seemed to be done, Draco summoned him a new bucket and took the one Harry had obligingly filled.  


"Thank you," Draco said absently as he turned to take the bucket to Neville and Veronica.  


"Seriously?" Was Harry's belligerent reply, Draco grinned in spite of their situation and winked at Harry on his way out. Out in the lab, he deposited the bucket next to the, now empty, cup of tea. "Lets isolate the components of his stomach contents, match them to what was in his earlier blood levels and reverse engineer the potions." As he looked at the list they had begun generating he nodded, their results matched his expectations. " It looks like they were concentrated down to be more potent. We've got several overlapping ingredients, start with those and --- " Veronica coughed and glared at him. He realized he was telling her how to do a job she already knew how to do. This was a basic exercise for potions apprenticeship. "Sorry, carry on," She gave him a stern glare and shooed him off.  


This was happening to him a lot lately, no one had ever shooed him in LA. Americans tended to just exit unceremoniously when someone was being presumptuous. Or they would tell him to quit being an ass. This glaring and shooing off was new. Glancing at the list Neville had drafted, Draco ran through a list of known poisonous combinations in his head, running the ingredients for Pepper Up potion against the list of ingredients in the suspected potions. Coming up with no adverse reactions, Draco grabbed his copy of Harry's file and a Pepper Up potion.  


In his office, Harry was already looking better. Glaring at him, but what else is new? Draco thought and resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He handed Harry the potion and watched as he drank it down, shuddering as it hit his system and kicked in. He sat up straighter and shook his head, sending his hair flying into greater disarray. Draco admired it idly as he waited for Harry to settle.  


"I'd like to get you back to your room, and settled for the evening," Draco spoke in the gentle voice he usually used with Scorpius. A tone of voice too tender and familiar for patients, but Harry felt different. Harry felt familiar and warm, even when he was angry and mulish. The other man nodded, Draco grasped his forearm and helped him to his feet. He really should be using a walker, but Draco thought Harry would sooner hex his own feet off before using a walker. They made slow progress back to his room, the children trailing around them like ducklings. Hermione followed along behind, an expression of deep thought on her face.  


"Will you be able to tell me what's been going on tomorrow?" Harry asked, leaning closer into Draco, who automatically shifted his arm so that it lay around Harry's waist. Looking at him, sick and exhausted, Draco couldn't push him off with his normal Healer's jargon. The truth slipped from him, as easily as it had when they spoke at two a.m.  


"I hope so..." He paused at Harry's mournful look, "I need to be sure, Harry, I won't lie to you, but I'm not going to bludgeon you with false theories either," 

Their faces were too close, Harry's thin body too warm under his hands. He felt it as Harry nodded and sighed.  


"Okay... I trust you, Draco. I just wish this would end," the desperate twinge in his voice causing Draco to hold him tighter.  


"It will, soon. I'm much closer to the solution than anyone has been so far," he said encouragingly and Harry chuckled.  


"Always so superior, Malfoy," Harry smirked. Draco nodded favorably.  


“Obviously," Draco said, in his best imitation of Severus Snape. They were both snickering as they walked in to Harry's room. Ginerva Potter was sitting coolly on the couch in front of Harry's window. She wore a short tweed skirt and a cream blouse. Her legs were crossed and her hands were folded neatly in her lap. She was doing the best imitation of a bereaved and under-appreciated wife Draco had seen since his mother had pulled this trick. Draco glanced over his shoulder at their gaggle of children.  


"Wait outside," he said to them sternly. Hermione gathered them into plastic waiting room chairs and Draco shut the door behind himself and Harry. He guided Harry back into his bed, even though Harry's hands clutched at his arms desperately. Leaning over, pretending to fix one of the pieces of equipment next to his bed, he whispered into Harry's ear. "Relax, I've faced worse than your wife in my day," he smiled against Harry's skin and righted himself. Turning coolly on his heel to appraise Ginerva Potter.  


"Mrs. Potter, you look well," he opened smoothly. While he was certain vitriol was in his future, he was not about to start a fight with Harry's wife. Not blatantly, anyway.  


"Malfoy," she spat savagely, "You've still got a ferret face," her use of the old insult was much different than Ron's fond use, but it was still an easy insult to let roll off of him.  


"Thank you, I too, feel that I've aged well," he countered. Ginny Weasley had nothing on an angry and hissing Pansy Parkinson; Draco could play this game with her all day and get bored after five minutes. Ginny scowled.  


"What exactly do you think you are doing with my husband?" Her voice was like acid on the air. _Oh, not nearly as much as I'd like,_ he thought wildly, allowing a smirk to cross his face.  


"I was recruited, by Healer Rochester, to assess and treat Harry's condition. We've been making some interesting progress --" He spoke freely, using an artsy flow of his hands to make him appear vainglorious. It had the desired effect of furthering her ire. Below him, Harry's body was held taught and his gaze was cryptic, but it was directed at Ginny.  


"I don't care who brought you here, I want you off of his case and away from my children!" She screeched at him. Harpy indeed, he thought smugly.  


"That’s not your decision to make," Harry interjected icily. "I've given Hermione my medical power of attorney, with your travel scheduled and my ill health, it seemed foolish to keep you on record." Surprise chimed in Draco's mind; he'd not realized Hermione was Harry's medical contact. It sounded like things were more acrimonious in their marriage than previously thought.  


"Excuse me?" She retorted bitingly. Harry met her gaze with unyielding certainty. Draco snickered internally. Ginny Weasley had nothing on Pansy Parkinson, and she certainly had nothing on Voldemort. With a severe glare at Draco, she left the room without a further word, pausing only briefly to greet her children. Hermione, she ignored entirely. In the hairs-breadth of peace they got before their children arrived, Draco held his hand firmly. They didn't speak. Harry's gaze was fraught with uncertainty and anguish. Draco's was resolute, promising a swift end to this and his support. Harry nodded tightly and held Draco's hand until they were bombarded with children. As Hermione entered the room, her gaze flicked from their faces to their clasped hands and back up to watch as their attention turned towards the children. Draco stepped reluctantly away from Harry, collecting Scorpius into his arms once again. The movement was fluid, a natural and practiced gesture. Scorpius nuzzled into him quietly; content to observe his friends climbing tentatively into Harry's bed.  


"Come on you lot, Draco's gotten me all fixed up, nothing to worry about!" He chided gently, doling out kisses and hugs with practiced ease. Around him, they relaxed, the tension draining from their small bodies as he cherished them. Draco sank into a chair with Scorpius, satisfied to let go of his burdens for a moment and enjoy the cleansing atmosphere. Hermione settled into a seat next to him, leaning over to drop a kiss on Scorpius forehead. The boy looked up at her from under his fringe and grinned. She gazed at Draco, then leant forward and kissed him on the cheek.  


"Thank you," she said quietly. Draco didn't respond, just looked at her in shocked amazement.  


"Play the hospital song dad!" Lily crowed, standing on the bed and looking like she would throw herself on him if he declined. James quickly grabbed her around the waist and slung her around as Albus scrambled for the guitar before anyone was squashed by Lily's flying squirrel impression. She was giggling as James ticked her.  


Draco watched curiously as Harry settled the old guitar on his lap. Under the scuffs and scratches, Draco knew it to be a fine instrument. Old did not mean worn out in the world of instruments, many times, it meant the sound would be richer. He began with the same simple, charming melody Draco had heard the other day. Harry's voice was smooth, with a hint of sarcasm as he sang the opening lines. At first he sang to the children, but after a few stanza's he sat up straighter, settling into his own enjoyment of the music. 

_Well, maybe love will never bring you what you wanted it to.  
I keep on looking in the mirror for a clearer view,  
I got a handful of nothing I keep throwing at the world  
And it’s a Hail Mary pass; it’s the hardest I've hurled,_

His voice was melancholy, hope dancing around the edges of his voice. Draco sighed and clung to Scorpius. He had been unprepared for emotion to overwhelm him again. Today was giving him no quarter. 

_Every nerve in my body feels pale and cold,  
I used to fight to stay young,  
Now I'm fighting to grow old,  
And I know your hearts heavy,  
'Cause its you that I'm needing_

Harry looked up at him, catching his eye, alarm and longing thrummed through Draco as Harry sang, "

I know, it’s hard to soldier through love when you're already bleeding  
I know you think I look handsome in my hospital shirt,

He had the audacity to wink at Draco, before shifting his attention back to Lily who was gleefully snickering -- having missed the subtext. Scorpius and Hermione hadn't, both of them looking at him with considering glances. Draco ignored them and focused on breathing in Scorpius clean scent and resisting the urge to have a proper freak-out.  


When Harry finished the room remained quiet for a breath before his children began chattering at him. Draco focused on breathing, noticing that Scorpius had synced their breaths -- an old practice they'd used since he was little. It eased stress for both of them. Hermione began collecting the miscellaneous bits the children had brought with them and left in odd places. Draco tucked his mouth down next to Scorpius' ear.  


"You okay?" He asked the boy, who nodded contentedly against his chest. "Do you feel up for going back with Hermione? I'll come home in a few hours," Another satisfied nod and the boy began to peel himself out of Draco's lap. Draco stood, nodding to Harry briefly before following Hermione and the children out of the room. He walked with them until their routes split, promising to join them for dinner at 7:30.  


In his laboratory, Neville was packing up. "I'll send you my report," he said. Draco nodded and shook his hand. Veronica seemed to have everything well under control. He praised her, which she pretended not to appreciate, collected their notes and promptly shut himself in his office.  


He dropped the papers to the ground, sliding to the floor against his polished, honey-colored door. Inside him, the levees that had held his emotional turmoil in check broke and he was flooded with feeling. The numb distance he had kept between his cognizant mind and his feelings was soon breached entirely. The distance he had relied on to get them both through the day evaporated and tears fell from his face.  


He had no business feeling this much for anyone, much less a married patient who also happened to be his former archenemy and the savior of the world. 

\--/:/-- 

After a rambunctious dinner with the Weasley-Potter clan, which Draco had felt significantly unprepared for, he retreated to their back garden. Unsurprisingly, Hermione found him. Surprisingly, she had bought him a glass of good whiskey that he quickly knocked back. Relishing as it burned and numbed him.  


"He means it, you know," She said, resulting in another round of Draco feeling confused and perplexed.  


"Who means what?" He spat back sassily.  


"Means it when he flirts with you," she said with the patient calm of a mother. Realization crept upon him, minutes too late, per the usual and he was forced to scoff and stutter in an undignified fashion until his thoughts were in a vague semblance of an order.  


"No, he doesn't. He doesn't even -- He can't," and he couldn't. His mind was a muddle of misplaced and manipulated sexual desire. Medically speaking, Harry couldn't at the moment make a fully cognizant decision regarding his sexuality. Any action taken towards Harry by anyone would be criminal, in his current state. From Draco, it would mean removal from the medical profession entirely, followed by a 5-year stint in Azkaban.  


Hermione regarded him carefully. "Consider it, when this is all resolved. In the meantime, as Harry's lawyer I expect copies of all reports regarding his current condition," She said firmly and stood, clasping his shoulder before she turned away. 

\--/:/-- 

The next morning, he was seated around a round table with Rochester, Veronica, and Neville's very detailed report. Harry's blood work had confirmed the presence of all three suspected potions: Sexualitas Defigere, Utor Mansuefacio, and Campania. After Rochester had confirmed the independence and fidelity of her work, he took Veronica's written report and dismissed her. For lengthy moments, Draco and Healer Rochester sat in silence, staring at the evidence in front of them.  


Finally, Rochester's gruff voice interrupted the silence. "You've done excellent work, Healer Malfoy," Draco's head shot up in surprise and dismay. From his point of view, he'd done horrid work. He'd breached every practice of professionalism, gotten head-over-heels emotionally involved, and run around the hospital like a crazed man. He'd never even reported in for work, technically. They had no home address, no bank routing information, he didn't even have a photo ID badge for the hospital yet. "These have been exceptional circumstances, Draco. You've done well. We are lucky to have you," The burly man met his gaze firmly and Draco nodded his thanks, unable to articulate his relief that he wasn’t being promptly fired. "Are you able to discuss this with Mr. Potter and his attorney?" He asked gently. Draco straightened his spine and nodded.  


"Yes." He said and they rose from their seats, making their way to room 214 at a leisurely pace. Draco took the time to clear his mind, exercising the last snippets of control over his emotions. Harry and Hermione were waiting for them, both sitting on the settee in front of the window. Draco stepped into the room, looking anywhere but at Harry. Rochester shut the door firmly before them. No one spoke as the two Healers settled into chairs. When Draco looked up from his trembling hands, all eyes were on him. With a deep sigh, he began, attempting to summarize efficiently what had made Harry ill.  


"You've been dosed, over the last 10 years with a combination of potions old pureblood families used to ensure marital compliance," Harry and Hermione's of faces darkened with rage and confusion. "We have identified three separate potions, used over the course of the last ten years. The first, and most consistently used, from what we can tell, is called Sexualitas Defigere." Draco paused, looking at them to see if they had questions. Harry motioned impatiently for him to go on. "Sexualitas Defigere, by the most rudimentary definition means, "to redirect sexuality". It causes a person's sexual desire to focus entirely on solely one person – despite their intrinsic sexual desires. Like with the Polyjuice potion, it requires a hair as its catalyst." The room was silent; he had expected an outburst from one of them. Instead, Hermione was still as a statue while she watched Harry's reaction. It appeared that pieces were falling into place around him. Reality was setting in as the potions cleared from his body. New information slotting into gaps he hadn't realized were there.  


When no one spoke, Draco continued. "From what I know from my family history, these potions were used when a betrothed couple was unwilling to enter into the chosen union. By utilizing this potion, they could ensure the marriage would be consummated. The use of the other two potions, ensured the union would result in a child and docility from both partners. Utor Mansuefacio is similar to a calming draught, but it causes a person to be highly susceptible to suggestions. Think of a combination of Imperio and the Calming draught." At this, Harry's color peaked and he glanced to Hermione. Equal parts saddened and furious.  


"And the last one?" He asked tiredly.  


"The last is Campania. It is considered, by most, to be the original fertility potion. The recipes for all three of these potions are at least 500 years old. They would be found in old family grimoires. Each family’s recipe will be slightly different. I retrieved my family's grimoire and we use those recipes to identify the remnants of the potions in your blood stream and stomach contents." Harry grimaced and gazed steadily at the floor. At a nod from Rochester, Draco continued.  


"The main cause of the poisoning, and your symptoms, results from the use of improperly substituted potions ingredients. Because the recipes are this old, many of the ingredients no longer exist. The potioneer substituted the most obvious modern replacements - not realizing that the combination of these ingredients would result in a slow acting poison. Due to the length of use, this slow poisoning -- the early symptoms you experienced, nausea, headache, fatigue grew into your current condition. The poisoning could be unintentional." He attempted to sound kind, but it came out annoyed. The silence dragged on until Harry spoke, his voice resigned.  


"So, I've had my sexuality manipulated to point only to Ginny, been made docile, and extra fertile over the course of the last ten years, in summary?" he asked acidly. Draco nodded mutely. He was out of words. He felt if he spoke, the tears from last night would make their comeback. He had done a lot of horrid things to Harry in the past, but none of them had been deliberately premeditated to this degree. While he would like to think this was desperation gone on too long, it reeked of forethought and persistence. If this had gone on for one year, or two, perhaps it could be written off.  


"What are the next steps for getting Harry well?" Hermione asked, crossing her ankles and leaning towards Draco a little.  


"No more potions," Draco said, a little too simply. "Rest, proper nutrition, nutrient supplements for these first few weeks, exercise when the dizziness subsides. Any instances of relapse will only exacerbate the damage to your body. Your body has gone past its tolerance for the potions. Any more instances like yesterday may do irrevocable damage. If we can keep it out of your system, your body should heal itself over time," the truth of the matter was, there was no real fix to this. It had to work itself out.  


"So, can I go home?" Harry asked hopefully. Draco was loath to let him out of his sight, but there was no real reason for him to stay. It was a waste of his time and hospital resources.  


"I would suggest removing all old food and drink items from your house, for good measure. But yes, you can go home. I want you back here twice a week so I can monitor your progress, and back immediately if you feel worse again. Okay?" he looked at both Harry and Hermione, who nodded seriously. "Here are copies of our formal reports, please, let me know if you need any additional information." He and Rochester stood, Rochester exited the room quickly, Draco hesitated. "Harry, let me know if you need anything, okay?" he asked plaintively. Harry just nodded and looked distantly into a corner of the room. Draco nodded at Hermione and left, closing the door behind him. 

\--/:/-- 

The next several days were that monotonous kind of boring where the inevitable is looming distantly, but nothing happens. Rochester had sent him home for the remainder of the week to "get his affairs in order". After a morning spent looking glumly at Ron and Hermione's pond, Draco rallied and he and Scorpius spent several days looking at properties to rent. Hermione managed to slip him a list of places where the landlords were distant, but polite. They secured a small cottage off the edge of a sheep farm in Northern England. Scorpius was elated; they had three bedrooms, two bathrooms, and space enough for him to run around outside without seeing another person for at least an hour. After LA, this was a novel and magical experience Draco hadn't realized was missing from the boy’s life.  


They ate bangers and mash from the local pub. Meat pies from a street vendor off the Thames. Scorpius, after one particularly wet day, was introduced to the requirement of Wellies. He picked out cherry red ones and Draco had a moment of panic while he considered that Scorpius might be sorted into Gryffindor. June became July; Draco remembered what he'd loathed about humid English heat. Cooling charms only combated it to a point, and he missed the frigid false winter of Muggle air conditioning.  


Harry came in for his scheduled checkups, his condition improved. Draco relished the sight of his color perking up and his clothing filling out. Missing, was the playful spark in his eyes. Instead, Draco continued to see the resigned, hard look of a man processing the demise of a dream. He was distracted in their meetings, understandably so. The Aurors had been by several times, questioning Draco and Veronica on their process and research on Harry's condition. Draco gave him a clean bill of health, and requested a 6-month checkup.  


One morning in early August, the morning post boasted sensational headlines, "Harry Potter Bamboozled into Marriage!” "Ginny Weasley accused of Line Left & Poisoning!” "Draco Malfoy saves Harry Potter!” The hospital was a madhouse that day, Draco left early and he and Scorpius stayed in their cottage for several days. After receiving a letter from Albus that he would have to miss their planned outing to Diagon Alley, Scorpius threw a fit worthy of an Upper East Side teenaged girl and stayed in his room until 10 p.m. when he finally succumbed to starvation. 

\--/:/-- 

As the train rolled out of the station, Draco was quite certain he wouldn't survive this. He would just stay on the platform forever and wait for Scorpius to come back. How did anyone do this? He wondered angrily. They were all so young, what business did they have going off to the nether regions of Scotland without their parents? An idea blossomed in his mind; he could just kill off Madame Pomfrey and take over her job. Then, he would be able to watch over Scorpius, watch him grow into adulthood rather than see it in jolts and spurts. A warm hand landed on his shoulder.  


"Hullo, Draco," it was Harry, his presence reassuring in the blustering lonely cold. "It will be alright," he said reassuringly.  


"No, I'm quite certain it will not be all right. In fact, I am positive this is the exact opposite of all right," Draco sputtered. Harry chuckled, his hand drifting down to clasp one of Draco's.  


"Come along, then, I'll buy you a drink or five. It'll be all right then," Draco sighed and let Harry lead him away from the train station. Each step they took felt like a mistake and soon he was pretending the wind made his eyes water. Harry shook his head and smiled at him knowingly.  
They sat awkwardly in the pub, Draco starting morbidly into his pint. Still plotting the demise of Poppy Pomfrey. Maybe he could just suggest she retire? She had to be nearing retirement age... She was ancient! Harry clearing his throat interrupted his thoughts.  


"I'd like to apologize," the other man said stiffly. "I ought to have been more present, with you, these last few months," He shuffled uncomfortably in his seat. Draco noticed that the gouge in his arm from the IV was smoothing over well.  


"Harry, we've been over this. You owe me nothing, you've fulfilled your duties as a patient," Draco knew he was using his "Doctor" voice, as Scorp called it. The very precise, sternly logical, calculatingly calm tone he used when he was attempting not to startle people. Harry glared at him banefully and huffed.  


"I've requested another doctor," Harry said nervously and Draco froze, frost creeping over the edges of his glass where he gripped it tightly.  


"Now, you listen to me, Potter," he spat the name with as much venom as he could muster, and Harry grinned. "I do not care that you're the Harry fucking Potter, you're not pitching me over for some half educated fool of a healer whose going to land you back in the hospital," his words were fierce and belligerent, Harry was still grinning. Draco glowered at him, "what?”  


"Hermione said you'd do this --"  


"Well Hermione's a bloody brilliant witch, isn't she?"  


"I've requested another healer because you and I both know that I'll be fine, so long as I don't get poisoned again. Which shouldn't happen, that’s been mostly settled. However, I also know you can't give me a fully clean bill of health for two years -- due to hospital rules regarding poisoning. So, I've had my case transferred to Rochester. Yesterday, in fact." He looked smug, sitting there grinning like a Cheshire cat who’s just eaten a canary. Draco's beer had turned to a brick of ice in his hands and he carefully peeled them away, wincing as the skin pulled roughly away from the icy glass. He folded his hands in his lap and continued to glare at Harry.  


"I had hoped we were beyond our past," he said quietly, his anger having ebbed into resignation. Harry slid around the table to sit next to him. Covering Draco's frozen hands with his own.  


"Draco, we are. I'd like to be," Harry was too close, past the barriers traditionally upheld by acquaintances. His body was warm and light sparkled in his eyes and skin. He was as beautiful as Draco had ever seen him. Hospital protocols aside, he was healthy and strong once again. Muscle tone returning where it had been lost to illness. Hair growing in thick and wilder than ever. The presence of his magic lingering around him in an overwhelming hum.  


"They why remove me from your case?" He asked petulantly, Harry smiled softly and leaned forward, resting their foreheads together, his eyes brilliant and laughing, mere millimeters from Draco's icy gray ones.  


"Because, I can't do this, without getting you in trouble, if I'm on your caseload," He leaned forward and covered Draco's mouth with his own. Gentle, hesitant, clever and teasing. Draco gasped and Harry pressed forward insistently. Draco pulled him closer, biting his lip gently. Harry groaned softly and pulled away. Draco stared at him in amazement.  


"I can be such a stupid git," he managed and Harry laughed gleefully, kissing him again.  


"Yeah, you can," 

Fin


End file.
